Don't Say a Word (5 page)
“It is woman who come when Mrs. Lockhart go away.”
“He’s having an affair?” Will asked.
“She is one he pays for.”
“A call girl?”
Maria shrugged. “I not know. She came after dinner but was gone when I got up.”
“You don’t know when she left?”
“No, sir. But cameras in driveway. They tell you.”
Will was surprised. He had looked for surveillance cameras when they arrived but hadn’t seen any.
“We didn’t see any cameras,” Julia said quickly to Maria. “Where are they?”
“Hidden. The judge afraid sometimes. He get threats.”
“What threats?”
“I not know.”
It was something to check out. Maybe Mrs. Lockhart could clue them in. “Where are these cameras?”
“They hide them in flower pots and on house. Some up high, in trees.”
“Is there a camera on the swimming pool?”
Maria shrugged. “I do not think so.”
“Is there anything else, Maria? Anything at all? Did you hear the woman’s voice when you heard the judge before dawn?”
“No, only him. He laughing, I think.”
“Do you know the woman’s name?”
Maria looked uncomfortable, and Will wondered if she’d been warned not to mention Judge Lockhart’s midnight guests. “It Ginger, I think. But I never saw her up close or talk to her. He tell me stay here and keep Julio inside when he see her.”
“Thank you, Maria. Would it be okay if we came back and talked to you again if we need to?”
That was Julia. Maria nodded.
Will said, “If you think of anything else, you’ll give us a call, won’t you? Here’s my card.”
Outside, under the cool shade of a pecan tree, they looked at each other.
“We just might have a video of the killer,” Julia said, her eyes alight with excitement.
“Let’s go find those tapes.”
Chapter 3
The killer sat at his makeshift table, a single candle flickering in invisible air currents. He stared down at the white paper plate holding about an inch of Judge Lucien Lockhart’s tongue. The cave was very cold tonight, and he could hear the slow drip of water somewhere down the long, dark passage. Fingers entwined and resting on the table, his shoulders relaxed, he felt totally tranquil, almost serene. He had done it. Single-handedly he had sent Lockhart to hell, where he belonged. No one saw him enter or leave Woodstone Circle or the Lockhart grounds. He had been stealthy and controlled, and that was the key. The execution of the murder had been absolutely perfect.
Now, he was safely back in his hidden lair, untouched, unsuspected. At that thought, he almost laughed to himself. Lair? Him, have a lair? Who would’ve ever thought he would creep down to such a dark, spooky place as this, of all things? He never would’ve dreamed it possible. But it was a place to hide, to plan, and he couldn’t have chosen better. No one knew about this cavern; no one would ever guess where he was when he disappeared for a time. He’d finally worked up the courage to turn his fantasy into a lethal reality.
When he’d seen Lucien Lockhart helpless, terrified, and most of all, humbled, he had loved it. Loved the twisted horror on Lucien’s face when he’d gotten hold of his tongue with the pliers. Loved the power he’d felt. The explosion of fiery satisfaction had sent shivery sensations skittering down his back. He had never felt such triumph, never in his entire life. Now, he was surprised at how much he craved another such act of depravity. He already knew the disgusting animal he would choose next. Victim Two. A man who deserved to die just as much as Lucien had.
But first things first. He opened his Murder Book and gazed at Lucien’s photograph, and then he squeezed out a dab of Elmer’s glue on the page just below his image. He picked up the tip of Lockhart’s tongue and pressed it into the glue. He would let it dry, and then he would turn the page. As he wiped the blood residue off his fingers, he saw that his hands were shaking. He was new at this game of murder, raw and inexperienced. A little reaction was understandable. Despite his age, Lockhart had been strong and athletic. But so was he, more so than other people might think, and he’d had the element of sheer surprise. God, that man had been arrogant. Lucien had ordered him off his property as if he were some kind of railroad bum. Judges were used to ordering people around and enjoyed exerting their power and authority. Lucien Lockhart wouldn’t be ordering anybody around now. No, sir. Lucien Lockhart was done for.
He stared down at the severed tongue glued in the book. The blood had congealed; looked black now. But how many words had come off that tongue that had caused families such unbelievable grief and anguish? How many fraudulent orders had been spewed out, to disappoint and infuriate innocent families? The judge had deserved to die, no doubt about it. The world would now be a better place.
The fraudulent tongue shall be cut out
, he thought with righteous vindication.
The fraudulent tongue shall be cut out
, he thought with righteous vindication.
One down
, he thought, his pleasure rising higher and higher until it verged on carnal ecstasy,
and number Two, here I come
.
, he thought, his pleasure rising higher and higher until it verged on carnal ecstasy,
and number Two, here I come
.
In a large closet off Lucien Lockhart’s oak-paneled and book-lined library, they found a long and technically top-notch bank of video camera monitors. Julia stood back and observed while Will Brannock sat down in a tufted, maroon leather swivel chair in front of the eight screens and expertly rewound the videotape from the camera that overlooked the front driveway. As if he knew what to do and had done it plenty of times. She wondered about that. Was he specially trained in surveillance at Quantico? He certainly worked with an unfailing confidence with this electronic equipment. She looked back at the other screens. One at the front door, one at the back door, and another at the double doors at the side of the house under the porte cochere. The one at the entrance gate showed that the uniformed officer who’d waved them inside was still fending off the first swarm of pushy reporters and curious gawkers. The camera at the back door caught a glimpse of Will’s forensic team, working on the corpse, all performing their tasks as thoroughly as Will was performing his.
Hating to admit it, she acknowledged her admiration for the way the TBI handled things, with expertise and organization, and every resource they needed. She had seen J.D. at work a couple of times, and he was the same way. In fact, she had toyed with the idea of joining the TBI, maybe in their behavioral science unit, but had put it on the back burner for now. She felt she did her job well, had received commendations, and would probably be a good candidate to transfer to another agency. If she paid attention to Will and the other state investigators, maybe this case would be a good tryout, just to see how she’d fit in. So far, none of them had acted overbearing and condescending, at least not much, but that might be because she was J.D.’s sister. There were more cameras focused on the sweep of the backyard in the grassy space below the pool and garden, others in the trees pointed down at various sections of the brick wall protecting the Lockhart property. She saw Jasper in one, sleeping in a flower bed and smashing the pansies. Uh-oh. Unfortunately, there were no cameras trained directly on the swimming pool. Too bad. Her guess was the judge liked to cavort and skinny-dip there with his paid sleazy companion and didn’t want the missus to enjoy the video of their shenanigans. If they got lucky, one of the cameras had caught the movements of the killer.
“These cameras are all motion-activated and set to run together. For our review, I’m going to set them to stop and wait if any one camera picks up movement,” Will told her, fully concentrating on the controls. “I’m going to set the start time to six o’clock a.m. yesterday.”
Julia leaned down close behind Will and watched over his shoulder as the videos fast-forwarded, stopping periodically at brief appearances of the judge and Maria going in and out of the house. No one else showed up until around eleven thirty p.m. when a vehicle turned in at the front gate.
“That’s a Lincoln, right?”
“Brand-new model,” Will replied, brows knit, not looking at Julia. “Silver-gray. Single passenger. Enter Ginger.”
My my, but Will Brannock was quite the professional when on a case. Didn’t waste words, didn’t even speak in complete sentences. Just short and pertinent phrases. A verbal slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am. Gone was the joking, smiley guy facetiously asking her to name state capitals. The Serious Detective was now on the clock. Truth was, that was a good thing; this was somber business. Will was a professional. She admired the way he was leading the investigation.
Refocusing her attention on the monitors, from one camera she saw the car stop at the front gate. Then another picked up their purported Ginger rolling down her window and smiling lasciviously up into the camera lens. She was a female, all right, and yes, about as female as you can get: very pretty young girl, long, coppery hair flowing in loose curls sprayed to look soft, and a low-cut gold dress that would win an Academy Award for Best Obscene Gown and which showed a lot more of Ginger’s goodies than most people wanted to see, especially Julia. Will might have a different response to that stimulus, but he wasn’t drooling on the keyboard, so she guessed he wasn’t overly interested in Ginger’s impressive six-inch cleavage. Will was on point, all right.
Julia watched the mystery woman punch the buttons on the security box. She kept smiling sexily up at the camera, certainly knowing exactly where it was. Her full lips were painted scarlet, of course, and her eyes were all smoky with black eye shadow and mascara. She said something into the microphone, which they couldn’t hear, but it was highly provocative; count on it. Last but not least, Busty Belle blew a kiss to whoever had answered the call up at the house. Julia hoped she didn’t pull down her top and show her boobs, just to spread some icing on her sexy little cake.
“Looks like the judge liked to order out for dessert,” she said to Will.
“Yeah. It appears Ginger knows her way around this place pretty damn well. She’s a regular, all right. We need to get her in for questioning.”
Julia watched as the girl waited for the gate to open, and then drove on through. “Hey, Will, zoom in on the license plate. That would simplify finding her.”
Will punched some buttons, stopping the image of the vehicle just before it left the frame, and hit another button. The Tennessee license plate appeared on the monitor. Turning to look back at Julia, he said, “This surveillance panel is something else. I know this security company. It’s out of Atlanta. They monitor these systems from their home base and call in the authorities if any alarms are set off.”
Julia picked up the phone on the desk and pressed the phone-log button. She punched through the list of calls. “No call came in to ask if the judge was okay, but we need to interview the security company and find out if there have been any security alerts in the last couple of months. As clean as this scene looks, the perp might have been casing the place for weeks.”
“Right.” Will was jotting the license number down on a notepad. Pulling out his cell phone, he said, “I’ll get Quantico to check out this plate and then I’ll put a call in to the security company. Go ahead, run the tapes. Yell if anything else comes up.”
Julia watched him walk out into the library, already punching numbers on his cell phone. She could hear him talking as the monitors stopped again and the woman got out of the Lincoln underneath the side porte cochere. Her skirt was very short, twelve inches at the most, and her red heels were almost that high. She was an obliging call girl, out to do her duty, by hook or by crook. The woman climbed the steps on those ridiculous spike heels. How, Julia couldn’t imagine. It must be like walking on two reinforced ballpoint pens.
Ginger looked directly into the camera at the side door and made some very suggestive movements with her mouth. She obviously thought that her judicial client was working the monitors. She looked extremely relaxed and comfortable, even eager to get her particular brand of show on the road. Oh yes, she’d been out to visit Lockhart before, probably plenty of times, and probably every time Mrs. Lockhart was enjoying her mama’s balmy weather way down yonder in N’Orleans.
“The number traced out to the Elite Escort Service. The address is downtown, near the river, I think.”
“Well, surprise, surprise. Maybe we ought to pay them a quick visit. See how many pretty women we can run in tonight.”
That got a grin out of Serious Will. “The security company got no alerts or calls last night, only a couple in the last six months—once when squirrels got into the cameras. Another time, Mrs. Lockhart’s dogs messed with a camera wire. They’re concerned over the lapse in this system.”
“Well, duh. I’d say they’ve got a major breach of security here.”
Will returned his gaze to the monitors. “Okay, let’s sit down and watch the surveillance all the way through. Odds are we’ll get a glimpse of the killer. I hope to hell we will.”
Julia sat down in the other swivel chair. No one else appeared on the films, not even a dark-cloaked figure lurking around in the shadows, which was probably exactly what the killer did. “It looks like the call girl’s the only lead we’ve got.”
Will nodded and pulled out his cell. “Right. Let’s give them a call. Get her full name.”
“Give me the number.”
Will stood back, handed her his phone, and watched her dial the number. She hit speaker phone so he could listen in. Two rings and then a husky come-hither-sucker female voice came on the line. “Elite Escort Service. How may we help you?”
“This is Detective Julia Cass at the Chattanooga Police Department.” Her own title sounded strange rolling off her tongue; she’d said Nashville PD for so long. But it was the first day she’d used it out loud, so there you go. “I need to speak to whoever is in charge.”
Loaded silence. “May I tell her what this is all about?”
“It’s about a joint TBI and CPD murder investigation. I’m sorry, that’s all I can tell you at this time.”
“Oh shit. I mean, one moment, please.”
Several minutes later, a different female voice answered. Billy Goat Gruff, as if she had smoked three packs a day since she was two. “This is Donatella Casey. I’m the owner of Elite. How may I help you?”
“You can help me by telling me which one of your girls serviced Judge Lucien Lockhart last night.”
“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“Ms. Casey, please don’t play games with me. You either cooperate or we’ll have to come down there and take you downtown for questioning.”
Donatella was suddenly eager-beaver agreeable. “Her name is Ginger. She won’t be available until tomorrow morning.”
“Ginger who?”
“Ginger Jones.”
“Where is she now?”
“She’s in Charlotte for a party. She’ll be there overnight.”
Surprise, surprise
, Julia thought. “We need to see her first thing in the morning.”
, Julia thought. “We need to see her first thing in the morning.”
“All right. I’ll arrange it. Is she in trouble, Detective?”
“We’ll need to talk to you, too, Ms. Casey.”
“I’ll be here.”
“Tell Ginger it wouldn’t be wise to try to skip out on us.”
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